


Following the Snow

by FantasyFiend09



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:31:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5287280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyFiend09/pseuds/FantasyFiend09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is following Draco Malfoy, again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Following the Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Darkravenwrote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkravenwrote/gifts).



> **Gift from:**  
>  **Title:** Following the Snow  
>  **Summary:** Harry is following Draco Malfoy, again.  
>  **Word Count:** 2,500  
>  **Rating:** PG  
>  **Contains:** *none*  
>  **Notes:** Darkravenwrote, I loved your snowy prompt and hope you like what I did with it. Omi_ohmy, thank you for making this much better than it would have been.

Harry pushed open the large oak door and stepped out of the castle. A cold breeze met him, rustling his hair and pinking his cheeks. As he pulled his cloak tighter around himself, he conceded that he should have listened to Hermione and worn a hat. But time was an issue.

He was relieved to have escaped the Gryffindor common room as easily as he had. Ron’s exasperated sigh and Hermione’s knowing smile left him with no doubt they knew where he was going. Or at least who else was involved. 

Harry knew they had witnessed his awkward attempts at small talk during Potions, but now he suspected they had noticed his watching as well. He didn’t mean to watch Malfoy all the time; he just found himself captivated by the pale hair, expressive features, and agile fingers. His eyes just found their way to Malfoy without Harry intending to look at him at all. But if Harry had caught himself staring, he should have known Hermione had seen. 

Regardless of what Ron and Hermione had noticed, neither tried to dissuade him from his impromptu walk outside, and that allowed him to reach the Hogwarts grounds in time to catch the morning sun shining off pale hair in the distance. Malfoy was moving past Hagrid’s hut toward the forest.

Harry followed.

The first real snow had fallen the night before, and the grounds were covered in glimmering white. Harry flicked an Impervius Charm at his shoes, which were already growing cold and damp as he strode through the snow. He couldn’t remember how he had managed winter at Hogwarts as a first-year when he hadn’t known such practical spells.

He reached Hagrid’s hut and felt a brief pang for how little he had seen his friend this year. They were both so busy: Hagrid with rebuilding the war-torn grounds and Harry with studies he had never fully focused on before. Looking at the hut, he noted the places that had been rebuilt and the scorch marks from when it had been set aflame. There was still work to be done, but Hagrid had clearly put the rest of Hogwarts before his own home. The puffs of smoke billowing out of the chimney suggested that Hagrid was home. Harry was there and undistracted by classes, as it was Saturday, but Harry turned away. 

He would visit soon. Today he had something else on his mind. 

Malfoy was almost to the forest, and Harry quickened his pace to keep him in sight as he neared the low branches of the outer trees. Harry had first seen Malfoy leaving the castle on the Marauder’s Map and, suddenly eager to watch Malfoy again, he had hurried to follow him. He didn’t bother himself with a reason for all his watching. Reasons were for Ravenclaws.

Malfoy suddenly stopped and turned to look directly at Harry.

Harry’s steps faltered for only a moment before he recovered. There was nothing wrong with Malfoy seeing him. Was there? Harry wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was just enjoying his morning by walking in the snow. Towards Malfoy. Who was the only other person outside, so who else was Harry meant to walk toward? 

As Harry continued to approach Malfoy, he decided he didn’t mind being caught in that piercing grey stare. Other than the intensity in his eyes, Malfoy’s face gave nothing away as Harry approached. Malfoy didn’t speak or move until Harry was nearly to him, and then his voice was flat.

“I’m not up to anything nefarious, Potter.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to make of that. He supposed Malfoy was entitled to think Harry was suspicious instead of curious, but it still made Harry’s heart feel heavy and tight. “I know. I just wanted to …” He shrugged. He didn’t know what he wanted, but the words that came to his lips rang true. “Join you.”

Malfoy’s brows came down in a look of simple puzzlement. Then he mirrored Harry’s shrug and turned back to the forest. “All right then.”

Harry fell in step beside Malfoy, ignoring the thumping in his chest as they moved so close together. They walked in silence, but it was easy and light, allowing Harry to hear the occasional chirp and skitter of the more mundane woodland creatures that inhabited the outskirts of the forest. He did hope that they wouldn’t be going too far in. There were other creatures he hoped never to meet again. 

They moved between the trees, but not into the denser, darker heart of the forest. Instead, Malfoy led them to a bright clearing with a sole pine tree in the center. It wasn’t a large tree, only a head or two taller than Malfoy, but it was nicely shaped with long bushy branches that held the night’s snow.

Was Malfoy here to fell a Christmas tree? The Great Hall was already decorated with a dozen large trees, but perhaps Malfoy wanted one for Slytherin or even his own room. Looking at the single tree glistening with tiny flakes of snow, Harry hoped Malfoy wouldn’t chop it down.

Instead of Transfiguring a stick into an axe, Malfoy reached into his pockets and withdrew a handful of seeds. Approaching the tree, he pulled the seeds apart, revealing that they were threaded together in a long garland. Malfoy held one end to the tree and gestured for Harry to hold it in place. Once Harry complied, Malfoy walked around the tree so that the seeds draped across the branches. 

He then pulled popped corn from another pocket and showed Harry where to hold it while he dressed the tree. A garland of berries followed, and then one of chunks of bread. When the garlands were all in place, Harry and Malfoy stepped back to examine their work. 

The little tree didn’t glow and flash like the charmed trees in the castle, but it was stunning in its own right. Harry turned to the side and took in the satisfaction and contentment on Malfoy’s face. Malfoy was proud of himself. He was proud of his accomplishment.

Harry didn’t want to break the silence—fearing it would shatter the camaraderie as well—but he was itching with questions. Malfoy turned just enough to meet his eye with a small smile.

“That should tide the birds until after the holidays.” 

It was a simple statement, but Harry saw it for what it was: the answer to one of Harry’s silent questions. Information freely given.

“Do you usually feed the birds?”

Malfoy turned to face Harry completely. “This year I do.” They stood facing each other for a long moment in which Harry wished he had the courage to close the distance between them and step into Malfoy’s warmth. He looked at Malfoy’s face and found himself appreciating the straight line of his nose and the apples of his high cheekbones. Most of all, he was drawn to Malfoy’s pink lips. He wanted to feel them with his own.

Oh. _Oh!_ He wanted to _kiss_ Malfoy. Suddenly all the watching and the unencouraged attempts at conversation made sense. Rather than panic at realising he fancied his former rival, Harry felt a great relief. He might be mad, but at least he finally understood his own madness. And perhaps he should have been embarrassed at how long it took him to figure out—because surely Hermione knew already—but he never claimed to be brilliant in the romantic feelings department. 

Malfoy turned back to the tree. “With all the damage from the battle, the usual plants aren’t all growing as they should. Everything is disrupted, and Hagrid and the others can’t fix it all at once. This is how I can help.”

Harry suddenly realised that this tree was not an isolated occurrence. “So you come out and feed them?”

Malfoy shrugged as if it were nothing. As if it weren’t the opposite of what he would have done at eleven years of age. “I check the places they used to gather. I spent a lot of seventh-year looking for places to be that the Carrows wouldn’t go, and I learned there were things more frightening than this forest.’

A rush of anger went through Harry as he thought about the sadistic siblings who had terrorised the one place Harry thought would always be safe. He hadn’t considered Malfoy being a target, but the Carrows might have enjoyed bullying Draco once Lucius fell out of favour. The very thought made him want to punch something. He pushed his anger aside and focused on Malfoy instead. He couldn’t change the past, but he could offer support now.

Malfoy’s voice was soft. “I still don’t go in deep.” He shuddered, and Harry wondered what image had crossed his mind. Voldemort drinking unicorn blood? Maybe the Acromantula that had attacked the castle with the Death Eaters the year before? “But the edges are home to different types of birds and squirrels.”

Harry couldn’t have suppressed his smile if he’d tried. All thoughts of the war vanished as he imagined Malfoy feeding birds and squirrels like a Muggle child at the park. Warmth flooded his chest, and he resisted the urge to hug Malfoy and pinch his cheeks.

“Oh, squirrels now too, huh?” he teased.

Malfoy stood a little taller, and turned to Harry with a haughtiness that reminded Harry of the boy from fifth-year. He never thought he would be so pleased to see that arrogance again. 

“For your information, Potter, the Scottish red squirrel is being pushed out by the American grey squirrel. Impertinent little buggers. Whenever I see one I Banish it to the Salem Institute.”

Harry laughed. It was too ridiculous—too adorable, really. Draco Malfoy: Defender of the undersquirrel. Harry didn’t think his cheeks could stretch any more, and his whole body felt light and warm. If talking to Malfoy made him feel like this, he never wanted to stop. 

“You’re adorable.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but he couldn’t regret it when he saw the look of surprise on Malfoy’s face morph into a guarded curiosity with something like hope burning in his eyes. Did Malfoy _want_ Harry to find him adorable? 

“I’m not sure what to make of that.” Malfoy was clearly trying for disinterested, but his voice betrayed how much he cared. “Are you mocking me or attempting”—his cheeks turned a deeper pink and his eyes darted away before meeting Harry’s again—“to flirt.” 

It was that last word that gave Harry his courage. That complex syllable with all its little sounds uttered so easily, as if it were a genuine, non-repulsive option for them. 

Harry stepped closer and pressed one hand to Malfoy’s cold cheek. His fingertips slid down below his ear where the skin grew warmer before disappearing under the soft green and silver scarf wrapped around Malfoy’s neck.

Malfoy stood as still as one of his precious squirrels, his eyes darting around Harry’s face as he assessed the possible threat. His breath came out in a puff of steam, but he did not pull away from Harry’s touch. Harry was charmed by the intensity in his eyes, both inviting Harry to continue and threatening the consequences of a wrong move. Did Harry dare take that risk?

Then a single flake of snow fell on Malfoy’s full lower lip. Malfoy’s tongue snuck out to catch it, but the flake melted instantly against the heat.

In that moment, Harry no longer cared about wrong moves or consequences. He only cared about those lips and that tongue. The space between them vanished and their chests were pressed close as their lips met for the first time. Malfoy’s lips were soft and warm despite the cold, dry air, and Harry hoped his own chapped lips wouldn’t put him off.

Seemingly not, given the way Malfoy dug his hands into Harry’s hair and brought them more firmly together. Harry was suddenly glad for his lack of hat. Cold ears was a small price to pay for the thrill of having Malfoy’s fingers threading through his hair.

Then Malfoy opened his mouth and found Harry’s tongue with his own. The kiss was warm, wet, and wonderful. Malfoy tasted like nothing but himself and Harry wanted to taste all of him. His hands were holding Malfoy’s face, and his tongue was in his mouth, and he didn’t think he could be any happier.

When they finally pulled apart enough to breathe—their hands still holding each other tight and their mouths still close enough to share air—Harry felt cold touches on his cheeks and forehead. Pulling back slightly more, he realised it was snowing. Fat, wet flakes were falling down on them through the clearing of branches overhead, melting on their skin like ice cold kisses.

Harry laughed and pulled Malfoy to his chest. Malfoy felt right in that space. The curve of his lips pressed into Harry’s throat and his arms wrapped loosely around Harry’s shoulders. He knew watching would never be enough again. He wanted what they had shared this morning: walking side by side, talking and teasing, working as one, and the touching. So much more touching.

“I think the holidays will be torture,” he murmured into Malfoy’s hair. “Why didn’t we figure this out months ago?”

Malfoy pulled back to meet his eye. His features were sharp, but the little smile that curved his lips was warm. “It think we needed the time, Potter.” He cocked his head and smirked. “And why should the holidays be torture? If you are implying you will miss me, wizards have invented this wonderful thing called the Floo network.” 

Harry had never been more pleased with Malfoy mocking him, because under all the snark was a genuine invitation to visit. Or at least talk. But Harry _would_ visit, now that the idea was in his head. Come to think of it, the Burrow wasn’t that far from Malfoy Manor. Harry could Apparate or even fly there. It wasn’t his favourite place in Britain, but surely they could avoid the drawing room and the dungeons. Or maybe he could get Malfoy to the Burrow.

“Should I be worried?” Malfoy teased. “I can see your mind working.”

Harry smirked back at him. “I was wondering if I could lure you to the Burrow. There’s food, drink, and Quidditch.”

Malfoy looked terrified. “And a hundred Weasleys! No, thank you. Although I doubt your are keen to visit mine.” His eyebrows pinched into a little frown. “Perhaps we should start off on neutral ground.”

Harry gave him a warm smile and took his hand. The snow was falling harder and they should probably head back to the castle while they could still see more than a metre in front of their faces. “I like Butterbeer,” he said as they started to move through the trees. He squeezed Malfoy’s hand and smiled at him. “And I like ice cream in the winter. The ice cream doesn’t melt everywhere and the queues at Fortescue’s are almost nonexistent.”

Malfoy didn’t reply. He just squeezed Harry’s hand back and smiled up into the falling snow.


End file.
